


Pilots

by imperfectkreis



Series: Charlie [3]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Anal Sex, D/s, M/M, Oral Sex, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-03 06:05:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2840798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courier Charlie's tangled interactions with Vulpes Inculta. If only the junkie knew what was good for him, he'd just side with the Legion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Roadside

They knew. They always knew. The hunter and the hunted, fox and the hare. Pretty, dark-haired green-eyed hare. With his long limbs and broken-toothed smile. Smiled so sweetly he could have been mistaken for an innocent, but not with arms like that, covered in crude ink and Psycho track marks. Not the way he lowered his lashes and cocked his hip, revealed a bit of skin between his too-low trousers and the hem of his threadbare shirt. Brushed his black hair out of his radioactive eyes and asked the fox if he was lost, as if he knew which way was coming or going.

If his men hadn’t been waiting for him just over the next bend, Vulpes would have pushed the hare’s face into the dirt right then and there. Taught him what to say and when to keep his sweet, chapped lips shut. But there wasn’t the time, he had other boys to train in other matters. Less interesting subjects, but more important to Caesar’s continued Westward movement. Vulpes’ own pleasures would have to be subjugated. Pity.

The hare waved goodbye, big and bright, though the fox had said nothing in return, simply turned and walked away. Left the addict to his miserable fate. If he were lucky, his death would be swift and painless. If not, he might be torn apart by the wildlife, or by another unscrupulous fellow.

In the end, Vulpes slipped away unnoticed as most of the recruits under his care slept. Told the one on watch not to breathe a word of his departure to the others. The wide-eyed fearful look he received in return was assurance enough.

He found the addict where he had left him, his eyes half-closed and leaning against the meager remnants of a concrete wall. Easy enough to tell him to get behind the wall, away from the road. The hare scrambled on all fours and knelt, obediently, with his hands on his thighs. Looked up at the fox with eyes that glowed faintly. Too much radiation, was probably sick with it. Sick with that and probably a dozen other things.

“Open.”

The hare knew full well he was a slut. Let his mouth fall open and his tongue fall out over his wrecked teeth. Looked up at Vulpes like the eager thing he was, excitement apparent on his face. He looked better like this, on his knees below rather than towering several inches above.  
Vulpes ran his finger along the hare’s lower lip, testing his control. When the addict closed his eyes and sucked, Vulpes knew he had chosen correctly. Well, he knew before as well. He was a very good judge of character.

The addict’s whimper of desperation when Vulpes withdrew his finger went straight to his groin. He unfastened the clasp to his skirt and dropped it low enough on his hips to pull his cock over the waistband. Better this way than the horror of having to pull up his skirt. That just seemed so...undignified, womanly.

“Suck.”

Obedience was such a virtue. Maybe the only virtue the hare would ever know, on his knees in the dirt, a stranger’s cock down his throat. He didn’t choke on it, because he clearly knew what he was doing. Still, Vulpes was a little disappointed so he grabbed a fistful of black hair and shoved himself down, holding the hare’s head in place until he choked, all wet and messy. But he still looked happy, like there was no place else he’d rather be. Sickening.

Vulpes didn’t think of the hare again until he watched the Courier’s corpse dumped into the grave above Goodsprings. Waited in the shadows long enough to see the robot dig him back out. Turned out the hare was difficult to kill. Turned out that he was infinitely more important than a Wasteland junkie with pretty eyes and ugly teeth.


	2. Goodsprings

Vulpes came and went as the days progressed, searching for any signs of Courier Six leaving the protective nest of the doctor’s home. Sometimes he spent no more than five minutes observing Goodsprings. When Courier Six did emerge, he looked freshly scrubbed with pink cheeks and a vault suit that covered up his tell-tale arms. Maybe the good doctor had bothered to detox him as well.

He talked to the robot that dug him up and stuck his hands in the pockets of the vault suit. Hunched over like a boy who was ashamed of his height since the first growth spurt. The suit was too short and his knobby ankles were exposed down to where his black boots started. Smiled through the whole conversation like the robot was a person who could give a damn.

The hare played predator with the tiny girl who spent her days shooting geckos and singing to herself. His aim was atrocious and he couldn’t hit a bottle at ten paces. Instead his hands shook and he dropped the gun and it went off, scaring the girl’s dog and causing the whole exercise to be abandoned.

The girl blushed when he smiled and pulled at the collar of her leather armor. Said he must have been good at something, but it sure wasn’t shooting. Laughed at that like it was a great big joke and her blush deepened. He played with a strand of her coppery hair like he was about to invite her to bed, but instead they just went into the saloon.

It was long dark when the hare stumbled out of Trudy’s. The fox could tell from the twitch in his extremities that he was high, the kind of tremors that came from mixing cocktails of depressants and stimulants. What a vulgar creature he was. Dirty and vile. He should be eradicated.

Vulpes caught him half way back to the doctor’s home. Reached right up and grabbed him by the bony shoulder. Turned him around and kicked out his legs from under him. Instead of collapsing in a heap, the hare fought back, rolled away and prepared to strike.

“Oh, you!” Instead of fleeing or fighting, the hare smiled.

“You’ll come, to the gas station up the hill.”

The hare kept his smile on, nodded, and stood perfectly still.

He waited back, letting Vulpes ascend the hill first, like he was well versed in keeping discrete when gentlemen came calling. Inside the station, the caravanner’s corpse was still well covered and the time elapsed too short for their to be an odor other than dried blood.

In the harsh light of the station the hare’s blown-out pupils threatened to hide the green of his irises. Vulpes thought idly about how he looked best with his eyes open and his mouth closed. No, he looked best on his hands and knees.

“What’s your name?” The boldness of the hare’s question in light of their prior encounter seemed odd. Out of character, even. But did dirty, drug-addicted whores have characters? Strange thought.

“Not until you earn it.”

He shrugged his shoulders and opened his mouth like the greedy creature he was. Not a shred of dignity about him. How boring. A swift kick to his side and the hare fell over, bracing himself against the floor and coughing.

“I thought I was doing good?” He straightened his posture but remained on his knees.

“Do you have any dignity at all? Were you never a man?” Vulpes sneared.

“I’ll be whatever you want, I’ll be good...but you gotta tell me first? Yeah?”

A tame pet was ideal for his mission, but not for his arousal.

“Why are you so strange?” He kicked the hare again, wanted to kick him and kick him until he fought back, until he resisted.

Made sure to kick him again while he was down, then pressed his boot between the hare’s shoulderblades, pinning him to the dusty floor until he squirmed his weak protest.

It wasn’t until the hare had flipped smoothly, overpowering Vulpes and and throwing him against the empty shelves, that the fox regained interest.

The hare had a sort of wiry strength about him. Vulpes should have known that much, having experienced hand-to-hand combat with similar types, though none quite as tall. What was puzzling was the skill with which the hare moved. So skillful, in fact, that the Courier feigned it was an even match. Someone had trained him how to fight, and trained him well. Certainly better than any tutor Vulpes ever had. Stronger, quicker even with his chem-dulled senses, horrifyingly strange. Vulpes had wanted his prey to fight, but not to win.

Yet, of course, he did not win because the hare had changed the rules of the game, holding off Vulpes’ blows rather than fully countering or taking advantage of mistakes. Exaggerating pain and dulling his own strikes. Infuriating, to be beaten so soundly by one with no pride left to lose.

In that fury, Vulpes forgot himself, forgot what little training he had and struck out with curled fingers, scratching and clawing like a desperate woman. He knew just as well how women fought. Pathetic and childish, like cornered animals, like he had expected of the Courier.

In his rage Vulpes missed the Courier throwing himself against the wall, but he must have, because instead of fighting, he was sitting, legs splayed out in front of him. His black hair was in his face and his green eyes looking up for approval. Vulpes would offer nothing of the sort and instead struck him hard in the face. Infuriating.

“Bend over the counter.”

The Courier seemed to know well enough that he was also supposed to strip, lowering the zipper to his vault suit as he crossed the room. Knew well enough to keep his head down too. Shucked his boots and climbed out of the suit but left his boxers on. His torso and back were littered with crude tattoos of nothing at all, just addict scrawl. Run out of med-x and dip the dirty needles in ink for the sake of doing something. One across his shoulder was so faded and stretched, someone had needled it onto him when he was smaller, younger. Sharp and dark was the large, dark ‘x’ over his heart, a more recent addition. Vile, all of them. A reminder of what life was like for those outside of Caesar’s protection. The hare was vile and so was the world that made him.

Bent over the gas station counter and nearly naked, the Courier looked a feast, though. Long, thin limbs with knobbly bones and gnarled scar tissue. His legs were spread just enough.

Vulpes cut away his boxers with his penknife and kicked the Courier’s legs further apart. Put his hand over the back of his neck tangled in black hair and pressed him down against the countertop. Worked his skirt down with his free hand and breathed into the hare’s ear, heavy and dark.

“What a slut you are.”

The Courier tried to nod but Vulpes still held his neck. Groaned sweetly as Vulpes lanced him with a spit-soaked finger. Vulpes continued to nudge his legs apart until he was nearly off balance, clawing at whatever surface was in reach to rebalance his weight.

“Tell me, little slut, what have you done to deserve my cock?”

“Nothing, but please, please!”

It only took a second finger to steal the Courier’s words. Changed his begging into puffs of air and gentle keening moans. Vulpes kept his hand at his neck, squeezing slowly, deliberately as it pleased him. Pressed the pads of his fingers into the pale flesh until he was certain it would bruise. Vulpes thought about the townies eyeing the marks at the Courier’s neck, whether they would worry for him, or be too embarrassed to ask after him. What would the good doctor say? That his charge was running off in the middle of the night to get fucked by strange men?

“What do you want, little slut?”

“Your cock!”

With the meager preparation he was still tight, and too dry. Vulpes perhaps had not prepared well enough. Not this time. The Courier’s insides scraped against Vulpes’ cock as he thrust into him, slamming his hips against the edge of the counter until his exclamations were clearly laced with pain. Let the leather and buckles of his armor cut into his prey’s back as well, leaving hashmarks and pinpricks of his submission.

The Courier arched his back and snuck his hand around to grab hold of his cock, trying to match pace with Vulpes.

“No,” Vulpes growled. “No.”

His obedience in this position was blissful. Such a strong creature broken down. Yes. Pleasure in that alone.

Released his neck and grabbed his too long hair, pulling it back and dragging his head away from the counter. Vulpes slotted his arm between the table and the Courier, pulled him closer, fucked his too-thin body against his cock.

“Even this is too much for you. More than you should get.”

He dropped the Courier back on the table and appreciated the dull thud when he hit. Vulpes’ orgasm was strong, but terribly brief. Pulled out of the hare and came against his lower back, his ass, his still-spread legs. He was whimpering, still hard and frustrated in his delayed satisfaction.

“Please, let me come, please.”

“You may do as you like.”

Vulpes took a seat in the empty chair on the other side of the counter, where he could watch the Courier’s face. Watched the desperation there as he brought himself off, still holding the position he was fucked in, letting the cum run down his legs, no doubt. He really was a pretty thing, despite his ugliness.

“You’ll work for the Legion, from now on.”

The hare’s eyes narrowed sharply as he righted himself, an unusual sign of suspicion. “No I won’t.”

“Any why not?”

“The Legion are bad.”

“Who told you that?”

“I just know.” He started to dress himself, seemingly unconcerned with the mess they had made.

“And what about me, am I bad?”

“You’re the worst.”

“But you don’t even know my name, pretty rabbit.” Vulpes had not moved from his chair, watching the Courier go about his business. Didn’t do a terribly good job of straightening himself out, still looked well fucked. Still had Vulpes’ handprint on his face. Still had Vulpes clinging to his skin.

“Fru-men-tar-ii,” he sounded out the word very carefully. “Heard some others call you that, last time.”

“Your pronunciation isn’t great, but you’ll learn.”

“No I won’t.” Now dressed, he leaned against the same countertop as if nothing at all had transpired there. “I’m stupid. And I’m not going with you.”

Vulpes didn’t argue with him on the first point. “Don’t you want to make me happy?”

This time he refused to meet Vulpes eyes, instead letting them dart erratically around the room. “You don’t even care what my name is.”

“I would be a poor frumentarii if I did not already know it, Charlie.”


	3. Jean's Skydiving

Vulpes ended up staying long after he had intended. He watched as Charlie brought himself off in his hands, knobby knuckles and split fingernails. Nearly managed to get going again watching the addict lick his own cum from his palm and smile around his fingers. The fingers came away from Charlie’s mouth wet. But Vulpes was too old for that now. Learned, despite himself, that Charlie's eyelashes were so long they fluttered as he blinked.

With a caravanner's corpse still under a thin blanket in the corner, Vulpes spoke to Charlie in what Latin he knew, sounding out each syllable until the hare spoke in the fox's tongue. Not his native one, but in the one of his choosing. The language which made him powerful enough a man to keep pets, such as Charlie. Never as a child would Vulpes have imagined this.

Charlie insisted he was stupid, but Vulpes knew better. Perhaps he was high, had damaged his brain, maybe the bullet had something to do with it as well. But Charlie was not stupid. Stupid couldn't fight like that, with precise blows and confident anticipation. Stupid didn't dance as Charlie could.

Light broke through the cracks in the otherwise dirt-caked windows. Vulpes had stayed too long. But it was a comfort that he was now sure of the asset Charlie would prove to be to the Legion.

Maybe he was stupid, if he could not see the glory of Caesar from Vulpes' words. A life of honor and heroism and rules and regulation. A life without scarcity where everyone had their duty. The fox was certainly eloquent enough, so it was no fault of his that Charlie could not understand.

When Vulpes returned to Goodsprings with direct orders to retrieve the Courier for Caesar, Charlie was already gone.

A mass of limbs slept inside Jean's Skydiving, attached to a mop of black hair. Simplest thing in the world to track him. Followed the trail of needles and empty canisters and girls with stars in their eyes. Charlie hadn't gotten very far at all.

Vulpes woke him with a sturdy kick to the midsection but the Courier did little more than crack an eye open and smile.

"You came back." Spoken with a hopefulness that should have made his mission easy.

He had intended to drag Charlie back to Cottonwood kicking and screaming if he had to. Instead he fucked the junkie against the lockers until the bent metal cut Charlie's cheek open. When the hare wasn't looking, the fox licked blood off his fingertips.

Charlie mewled and begged but put up just enough resistance to make things interesting. Clawed his nails against Vulpes’ exposed thighs, biting until they left half-crescent marks. Not enough fight to overpower Vulpes. The thought flashed briefly in his mind what it would be like to have his face against the locker. To have Charlie behind him.

No.

When he had his fill, when he had filled Charlie, Vulpes dumped him back onto the dilapidated mattress. Filled his voice with as much venom as he could.

“You’re coming with me, you will obey.”

“I won’t.” Stated like a petulant child. Charlie wrapped his arms around his bent legs, making himself as small as he could. But it wasn’t a fearful position, merely a comfortable one. Vulpes thought of the cum leaking out of him, one more stain for the mattress they hadn’t used.

“You will.”

“If you could make me, you already would’ve.”

Vulpes felt himself heating up, becoming distracted and violent. Losing control. He’d gut Charlie first, maybe cut off his easy smile and wear his teeth as a necklace. But no, he was more civilized than that, now.

“You’ll come running to me, little slut. When you ache for my cock and cannot find it, you’ll beg, and you’ll regret.”

“Re-gret.” He sounded it out slowly, like the Latin words Vulpes had tried to teach. “And why? I know what Caesar does to men like me. To ‘little sluts.’ He’ll do it to you too, if he knew.”

“And who makes you an authority on Caesar?”

Charlie simply shrugged and rolled over onto his stomach, tucking his arms under his chin and breathing heavily. Naked and vulnerable like this, it would have perhaps been prudent for Vulpes to reassert his power over the Courier, but he was something running so fast through Vulpes’ fingers he didn’t want to face the indignity of not catching him.

Vulpes couldn’t catch Charlie. Not yet. The weakness of Vulpes’ body prevented taking the Courier back to Caesar by force. The weakness of Charlie’s mind kept him from thinking clearly about the security and status he would gain under the Legion’s protection. Every argument Vulpes crafted was met by the same mantra. “He’ll know. He’ll know me and then he’ll know you too.”

Vulpes doubted that very much. Caesar saw the best in others, when it was present, he’d see the best in Charlie as well. Not only as a resource to gain control of the dam, but as an experienced combatant. He’d see the man Charlie could be that lay behind the fog of chems and excesses of the Waste. Charlie was salvageable like so few were. He’d have little trouble reaching the rank of Praetorian. Rank would, in turn, offer some level of discretion among the others.

“Are you going to stay tonight?” Charlie tilted his head against the mattress, seeking out Vulpes’ gaze and holding it. Everything about him was empty, eyes included. This world had reduced him to a husk, but he could be repaired.

The preparations for Nipton were already in place. He would soon meet the vexillatio he hand-picked for the assignment. There wasn’t time to spend on Charlie if he would not come. Better to wait for the Courier to come to him. To ache for him as he was sure to. Leave him now to ensure victory later. That much was clear.

“Only a few hours.”

Charlie rolled to his side, making space for Vulpes to lie next to him on the mattress. Perhaps there was another path to victory. Often there were. Vulpes’ occupation required such detours. This one would not be so very far off course.

The space was warm, as was Charlie. Given the obvious persistence of his chem use, it was likely that he also frequently ill. The addict draped a bony arm over Vulpes’ waist, though he hesitated slightly, as if unsure. Perhaps Vulpes should have struck him. Instead, he waited for Charlie to speak, to reveal some part of himself that could be used in his manipulation. All the while his eyes stayed open. Now Vulpes wasn’t so sure they actually glowed. Trick of the light, perhaps.

“You’re very beautiful,” Charlie’s broken teeth showed as he smiled.

“I’m no woman.” That alone should have forced Vulpes back to his feet. Instead he let Charlie run his fingers over his short-cropped hair. It was clear enough he was simple, Charlie would have said stupid, but that wasn’t entirely the truth.

“Sorry? Sometimes I get the words wrong. But I like looking at you. That’s beautiful, right?”

“Speciosus.”

Charlie smiled as if he were in on some great secret. “Someone has called you that before?”

“It is unimportant.”

“Spec-io-sus.” His fingers stopped at Vulpes’ ear, where he pulled lightly until the flesh warmed.

It was no great surprise that Charlie kissed him, his mouth tasting somewhat rotten and his lips rough and chapped. Pressed his lips against Vulpes’ in a far less desperate way than he had expected. Didn’t know what he had expected. Perhaps to reach out and strike Charlie, return him to his place as a Wasteland whore who was only good for fucking, and only then when the mood struck Vulpes.

Vulpes fell into his role, pushing back against Charlie, deepening the kiss and weaving the illusion between them. Little doubt now that the Courier would follow him. Perhaps not now, but soon. It would take a concoction of desire and affection, Vulpes only needed to find the right measure.

Still looking breathless, Charlie rummaged around in his pack, finding a canister of jet. Vulpes failed to stop him from taking a long inhalation.

“Vulpes Inculta of Kaizar’s Legion, greatest of his Frumentarii," Charlie sounded out the words very carefully, laughing through the end of it. "Vulpes Inculta of Kaizar's Legion, do you love me?"

"Don't be silly. Come with me. You're better than this."

The shift in Charlie's mood was perceptible. "No! You're bad. You'll always be bad." The laughter bubbling from his chest and out the sides of his lips inhabited him in a way akin to possession. "But I think I love you anyway."

Perhaps he had judged wrong and the Courier was beyond Caesar's salvation. He'd have to fashion a report.


	4. Nipton

It was perhaps for the best the next time Vulpes encountered the Courier they were not alone. That he would only be able to coerce him with force, and not seduce him with lies.  


Nipton burned, its men crucified and its women and children ash. They were not even fit for the market, the way they stank. The air now smelled like charred flesh and purification. He had made this land clean through sheer force. He had shown them the error of their ways and punished them accordingly. 

He would return to Ceasar triumphant. He would be praised. He was good.

And then Charlie arrived. Still under-armored and walking with long strides towards the town hall, assault rifle over his shoulder. His shorter companion in NCR insignia needed a step and a half to keep pace. Their faces were obscured by the distance, but Vulpes knew it was him. He was unmistakable even in silhouette. 

“Do not kill the tall one. That it the Courier,” he instructed his men. “The other is irrelevant. But only attack on my command.”

Charlie switched from a walk to a run, straight towards the Legion pack. His hair kicked up behind him and the tracks on his arms were fresher, starker. Vulpes stepped calmly towards him, distancing himself from his men little by little. 

“Vulpes.” The name came casually once he halted before him. “I knew you were bad.”

Charlie’s eyes looked hurt, as if he did not really believe before seeing it himself what the Legion could accomplish. But he was wrong, the pretty hare. They were not bad. They were the solution. 

“I knew it, but I didn’t want it to be true. You killed all these people.” Charlie wiped his nose messily on his bare arm, mucus glistening against his skin. Disgusting. Vulpes had to kill what little affection remained, but keep Charlie alive. He would not fail. 

“They were weeds where Caesar will tend flowers.”

Charlie’s companion was closing in on them both. Vulpes’ men stood at attention at a distance. All were still far enough away that they would perhaps not hear. But that window was closing. 

“Come with us, Charlie, please.” Vulpes placed his hand against Charlie’s cheek, waited for him to press against it, to submit to the offered affection. And he did lean, his flesh against Vulpes’ glove. In that moment, he believed Charlie to be caught. But his eyes did not close, radioactive flecks still staring straight ahead.

“You could just as easily come with us.” Charlie dipped his head to kiss Vulpes’ palm.

“That would go against everything I believe, Charlie.”

“So, see, it is the same for us both.”

A bullet intended for neither of them sliced through the air, catching one of Vulpes’ men in the throat. His scream gurgled up between the blood and he collapsed to the ground. He’d been tricked by an idiot junkie and some NCR lackey. No, this was unacceptable.

Vulpes changed his open palm to a fist and went to strike Charlie in the face at full strength. But the Courier was quicker and grabbed hold of Vulpes’ wrist, wrenching it away and knocking them both back against one of the the single-story Nipton homes. Vulpes’ vision darkened as Charlie slammed his head against the side of the house. He would not be had this way. 

He lashed out at Charlie with his legs, aiming for the groin and his blow landing as intended. Charlie stumbled backwards but did not let go, pulling them both to the ground. Dust kicked up around them and Vulpes struggled to pin Charlie down. The Courier outweighed him, so his advantage would be brief. He struck out as hard as he could, smashing his fist into Charlie’s neck until his air came out choked. 

Shots went off around them from Charlie’s companion. In their struggle, Vulpes lost track of the sniper’s position, but he could hear when his men were struck, how they cried pathetically. Boys only playing at soldier yet. Not ready for those with skill. Those who had already seen war.

Charlie did not regain his composure, but he did not have to. Only had to grab Vulpes shoulders and flip them back over to reverse their positions. He used the weight of his hips to keep Vulpes pinned to the ground. Instead of striking him, Charlie was content to hold him down at the hips, the shoulders. Points where he exerted the most control. 

“Dontwannadontwannadontwanna.” Charlie repeated over and over. His eyes were clearing as his voice became more frantic, he was burning through the chems in his system at an alarming rate and approaching sobriety. 

“Courier. End this.” Vulpes would rather die than be subjected to this humiliation any longer. To be subjected to the humiliation of having lost again. He was running out of men faster than it seemed the sniper would run out of bullets. 

“No, no no!” Charlie jumped off of him and began pacing back and forth. It was Vulpes’ opportunity to attack again. He reached for the knife in his belt, long and sturdy enough to slit the Courier’s throat. With his men dead, there would be no witnesses. He could tell Ceasar it was unavoidable. He should have done this from the beginning. 

Charlie turned abruptly, tackled Vulpes again, but instead of snarling and striking he kissed him with the same ferocity. Vulpes bit his tongue until Charlie pulled back, whimpering. This time he led with the knife, aiming for Charlie at his thickest point to ensure he would strike something. Even if he had to bleed the Courier dry cut by cut, he would not fail. 

But just short of the target, a rifle shot struck him in the arm. The pain was not immediate, a few seconds elapsing before the brunt of it hit him, heavy and searing, but not unknown. He dropped the knife and grabbed at the wound, applying as much pressure as he could manage as quickly as possible.

“Why? Your sniper could have killed me. Why didn’t he just kill me?” Vulpes hissed, collapsing to the ground still clutching his arm.

“Same reason I’m not torn to shreds.” Charlie stood over him, eyes clear but still sick with radiation, a particular softness to his features. 

Vulpes waited through long seconds for his death. Ticking by with heavy regularity. He’d been snared. He’d be skinned. 

“Run, Vulpes Inculta of Kai-zar’s Legion. Please, run.” Charlie’s hands were balled in fists at his side, steady, but only just.

“Are you fucking him now?” Vulpes shouldn’t have asked. Shouldn’t have cared about the answer.

Charlie shook his head, “No, Vulpes. Now go, please.”

He did not want to run. He wished to face his defeat. But it was a very difficult thing not to be afraid. He was; he ran.


	5. Freeside

It was a long time before he saw the Courier again. Caesar’s other, more pressing needs took priority. But he heard the stories. It was impossible not to. The Courier, his hare, was the news on everyone’s lips. With his broken teeth and beautiful eyes. There was talk about his grace and agility. Less about his chem addiction and slow wittedness. What a pretty picture others choose to paint with the colors Charlie provided. 

And always at his side, or rather, on the ledges and rooftops just above him, the sniper. Reports told Vulpes that the other man didn’t speak much. He shot sure and smoked often. Ex-NCR. One of his scouts reported that there was a contract for his wife, but that she never made it to market. They ended up feeding her meat to the dogs.

But Vuples had no interest in the sniper. He did have interest when the reports said the sniper and Charlie parted ways. That he has taken to traveling with a Followers doctor. This was the the closest the Courier has been to the Strip. He must intercede. Lay his traps. Wait. 

Charlie and the doctor entered Cerulean Electronics together. An hour later, he exited alone and without his shirt. Charlie’s scars cut deep across his chest, many of them appeared to be new, puffy and raw. Still, the black ‘x’ over his heart remained his most distinctive feature. The lines so much crisper than the rest of his scratch.

Vulpes knocked him to the ground, surprise giving him the advantage. Charlie gasped but did not struggle. Accepted his fate and breathed a name, “Vulpes.”

He had not said a word, and Charlie had not seen him, his face still pressed into the dirt. Yet still he had known.

“Vulpes, missed you so much.”

Charlie didn’t fight him as Vulpes pulled him out of sight. Between two blown out buildings they were relatively obsured. At least enough. Vulpes hoped enough. He pushed Charlie against the wall so hard his head hit the brick with a dull crack. But still the Courier smiled. Perhaps he didn’t feel it. His eyes very far away and fresh track marks on his arms. Med-X, at least two doses. Most men would be out cold at that.

Vulpes turned him around, pressing his face to where the barest trace of blood from the back of Charlie’s head painted the brick. Kicked his legs apart and pulled down his slacks. Saw another man’s handprints on him. Made Vulpes’ blood boil in his veins. 

“You slut, you vile, disgusting thing.”

“Yes, please, tell me how much you hate me. How much you want me. Please, please.” Charlie was too loud.

Vulpes pushed down the Courier’s slacks to his knees, parted him, pierced him, fucked him. He expected to find him already slick with another man’s cum, but while he was lubricated and open, wanton, he was not claimed. 

“Mine, mine.” Vulpes bit Charlie’s ear until he tasted blood, coppery and primal.

“Yours, yours, yes yes.”

His nails bit into the flesh on Charlie’s hips, scratched and burned. Had to do something. Had to erase the Followers doctor. Decimate anything left behind on Charlie’s flesh. Fill him up with his seed and leave him a ragged mess. Do anything to keep him, please him. Even over the distance and time.

Charlie came with a whimper, his cum splattering against the wall. Vulpes, coming in his ass, watching it run down his thighs. Resisted the urge to lick, to further mark. 

Grabbing him by the shoulder, Vulpes turned him back around so they faced one another. Their height difference meant Vulpes had to come up onto the balls of his feet. But for the first time, he kissed Charlie first, biting at his chapped lips to soothe the intimacy of the act. This was only to keep him pliant, docile. Yes, surely. Charlie bit back. Growled. It was still very hard to understand the Courier as a creature with teeth.

Vulpes took the charm from his pocket, clasped it around Charlie’s too thin neck. It hung there beautifully, solid and golden in the fading light. Caesar’s Mark but might as well been Vulpes’ name tattooed on his skin. The way Charlie touched it, gently, with great care, gave him away.

“You mean to kill Benny,” he kept their mouths close together. Let Charlie lean in and peck at his lips as he liked. Watched as his broken teeth showed through in senseless smiles. “Do it. He has a item on him, the Platinum Chip. Take it and then come for me. Please Charlie. You can do this, right?”

Charlie’s smile faded, he couldn’t give a straight answer, tripping over his words. Rather than endure a junkie’s garbage speech, Vulpes slipped away, hoping he had managed to regain some semblance of traction.


	6. The Strip

Charlie fucked up. Vulpes cleaned up his mess. 

The checkered coat walked from the Tops like it was nothing at all, a lump in his pocket and a smile on his lips. There was only one place Benny would go. Another Legionary was certain to pick him up along his path to Fortification Hill. So Vulpes allowed Benny his cigarette and the tune on his lips. Vulpes bit his own tongue when Benny passed too close, the stench of Charlie on his coat. 

The Courier himself wasn't far behind, all smiles and broken teeth. What those teeth felt like, harsh against Vulpes' flesh. The whining need from Charlie's cracked lips. No, not now. 

Charlie wanted to lean into him, moved to press their bodies together, but Vulpes took a quick step back, letting the junkie stumble, but not fall. Too much grace in his bones to clatter to the ground. Steadying himself, Charlie went for his cigarette pack next, only one of his vices permitable in public. As if he had dignity. His lighter was dry.

"What did I tell you to do, Charlie?" Combat here, open in the Strip, was not an option. Vulpes could only cut with words. Charlie's torn-up hide was too tough for that. Words like blades against a skin that wouldn't properly yield. It was why Vulpes could not forget his transgressions with the Courier, the long list of them, so warped. Wrong, but always haunting him, even as he hunted them.

Charlie rubbed his hands together, the unlit cigarette in his mouth, bouncing as he spoke. "Benny."

"What about Benny?" Vulpes hissed.

"He's not as bad as you," Charlie challenged. 

There was little time for this. Charlie was increasingly recognizable by the New Vegas populous and Vulpes was a shadow, a nothing-man, a fox between the refuse of a broken civilization that didn't know its own depravity.

A depravity that didn't come with a war, or with the bombs, clouds of radiation in the lungs of the always-already guilty. No, this world was ruined long before, because there were always men like Charlie. Always men like Vulpes Inculta too.

"Come to Cottonwood Cove."

The sniper behind sunglasses strode from the Tops, a rifle over his shoulder. Vulpes had to wind his words quickly.

"Come, Charlie."

Charlie smiled as bright as all the lights in Vegas. "Do you miss me, Vul-"

Quickly, Vulpes threw himself against the Courier, tightening his fingers around the sharp metal buckles hanging loose from his armor. His palms bit down on the sharp edges so the pain could keep him from losing himself in the waves of affection crashing from Charlie's lips against his. Better the public lacing of their lust than the speaking of his name. Charlie’s leg tangled with his, slotted in between the both of Vulpes’, his thigh rubbing against Vulpes’ groin. Hitching it just so, Vulpes bucked against it. A tactic, surely, to make Charlie feel safe, wanted, that was all. At any moment Vulpes could end this, pull back and assert to whom Charlie belonged. 

Behind him, someone whistled. Better than the alternative than risk exposure as Legion.

"What do you think, Charlie?"

The hare bit his lip and dashed away, a stern faced beret trailing behind each step.


	7. Fortification Hill

The hare came. Part of the fox wished it weren't so. But it was his duty to make Charlie come, to make him Legion. His life would be better here, fuller, with purpose and meaning. Clear of mind and healthy of body, Charlie could be these things. The side of the road to Goodsprings would be nothing more than an ashen memory, forever lost. They would never joke of it because it was not funny, because they would not remember.  
Just as Vulpes never remembered being weak, young, taken. It was not funny, it did not matter.

Charlie's eyes were glassy, full of unspoken hope, radiation, and chemicals. A cocktail of his life up until this point. But that was to change. He pulled at the loose buckle at his chest, releasing it and letting it bounce back into place. Staring right into Caesar's eyes, Charlie didn't hesitate. Not one bit. He was a man without pride, without fear.

And Vulpes. Vulpes stood, hands tucked behind his back, and waited. He'd sworn to Caesar this time the Courier would come. And he had. Vulpes promised he'd lay down his weapons. And he did. Everything lined up in perfect order. They had only to wait for Charlie's assent. They would have it. Vulpes' careful manipulations, spread as seeds of trust and lust, would bloom, bear fruit.

"I want," Charlie started, grabbing and releasing the buckle. "I want to be a Prae-tor-i-an."

Vulpes stilled the breath in his throat. It wanted to push out too quickly, with too much obvious surprise. Everything came together exactly as he had wished, as he had whispered in Charlie’s ear, not knowing if the Courier was lucid enough to understand, if he would remember in the morning. Beautiful pictures spun of how handsome he would look at Caesar’s side, how noble and proud. 

The status that rank would afford them, the protection that status would guarantee. 

Vulpes squeezed his fists together tightly as he could to keep his hands from shaking, to keep the errant smile from his lips. Staring straight ahead, he kept his eyes on the canvas, listened to Caesar laugh, sit back in his chair, appraise the hare. 

“We shall see, Addict. You cannot consent to challenge one of my existing guard until the chemicals have left your bloodstream. That should be of little difficulty now, if you survive the withdrawal. From what my Frumentarii have said of you, I believe you will live.” Caesar shifted in his seat, splayed his legs before leaning forward. Though he had to look up at the Courier, there was no doubt in Vulpes’ mind that Caesar maintained control, as he would always. “Until then I have another task for you.”

Caesar held forward the Platinum Chip, explained to Charlie what he was to do, to prove his loyalty first to the Legion, then the matter of the rank of Praetorian could be considered. Destroy the Securitrons, destroy Benny Gecko, destroy the NCR’s hold on the dam. All the shining pieces could fall into place. Once everything was torn up, it could be put back together, properly, this time.

Like Vulpes had been torn up, put back together. Now he was worth something, something great. Caesar would do the same for Charlie.

“Tomorrow?” Charlie asked, brushing black hair away from his eyes. Each and every one of his knuckles were scabbed, crusty and red. As if he had been striking a wall, repeatedly, something that would not yield. “I’ll go in the bunker tomorrow?”

“Yes, tomorrow, Addict.”

Charlie left with his mangled hands stuck in his too-small pockets. Vulpes waited until he was dismissed by name. That breath he had held was still tight in his chest. He didn’t release it until Charlie grabbed him by his wrist, pulled him around one tent. Their hands yet bound together, long fingers around his wrist. Charlie squeezed so tight, but Vulpes wouldn’t share a word on how it hurt.

“Now,” Charlie pleaded.

Vulpes covered Charlie’s curled fingers with his own, trying to soothe but wanting to pry away the fingers that caused such discomfort. He’d have bruises if this continued. 

“No, it’s not safe.”

Charlie shook his head before dragging Vulpes by his wrist. “Bunker, now. I want to do it now.”

Wrenching his arm back, Vulpes rubbed where Charlie’s nails had bitten against the inside of his wrist. Little crescent moons left behind. How insolent to mark him so. 

“Caesar said tomorrow.”

Shaking his head, Charlie tried to make his wishes known, but the thoughts were too jumbled, his mind racing too fast. “Tomorrow, tomorrow I might remember that this is bad. That you are bad and I am good. Tomorrow I might remember, but today I want, I want.” He tore at his hair, green eyes open wide. But they didn’t glow, not in the bright light of day like this. 

Vulpes didn’t have the option of silencing Charlie with his lips, with his legs, his hands or his cock. The weapons he used to hunt Charlie couldn’t be deployed here. There was no excuse to make them right. As far as anyone knew, Vulpes had already bagged the prey Caesar was intent to feed from. 

“Now, Vulpes, please.”

“Follow me.”

Charlie followed, hand still tangled in the too-long hair at his forehead, feet dragging in the dirt. No bother, it would just get packed down again as others paced over their tracks. Their footprints were nothing.

There weren’t luxuries like private tents or private moments, but there was the knowledge of patrols, assignments, and having routes memorized. Time existed if they made it. If Vulpes could bend the world just enough. As long as nothing was inadvertently broken.

“Kneel.” Charlie obeyed. With all his height he couldn’t stand upright inside the tent in any case, having to stay hunched over instead. On his knees before him, Charlie was the closest thing Vulpes would ever have to a personal possession. And soon, tomorrow, he would belong to the Legion instead. “Take out your cock, Charlie.”

His submission still came so sweetly, though this time without the smile. “Tomorrow you may not love me.”

Vulpes had no suitable answer. He didn’t love Charlie now, but if the Courier knew, tomorrow may not come.

Kneeling as well, Vulpes took Charlie’s cock in his hand. The other he curled around the back of Charlie’s neck, letting strands of dark hair brush against his knuckles, wind their way in between. “Stay very quiet, my pretty hare.”

Charlie’s bright eyes were open. In the dimness of the tent, they showed their contamination. He did not ask again if he was loved. 

“Quiet, quiet, good.” Vulpes stroked him, felt the heat against his palm, the slick of precum easing his strokes, but Charlie hadn’t made any of this easy. Not one bit. So perhaps it was too much grace to make Charlie feel this good. To feel the sob of his pleasure against Vulpes’ shoulder. “Quiet, quiet, so good.”

Charlie’s head lolled against his shoulder as long as Vulpes would allow. He wiped his hand against the dirt. It would dry in time. Even if it did not, it would be so easily be explained away. 

“You are mine, yes, Charlie?” 

“Please, Vulpes,” Charlie grabbed where he could, trying to find purchase against Vulpes’ armor. “Today, now. The chems, without them.”

“Without them what?” It hadn’t occurred to Vulpes before, could Charlie fight sober? Certainly he could. The Buffout for a little strength, the Med-x so he didn’t feel the blows against his always under-armored frame. But the principle of the thing, how to move through space, against hostile bodies, that would not fade away with sobriety.

“I’ll remember I don’t want to be here.”

With his hands in fists, Vulpes never wavered. 

“Alright, we’ll go.”

They walked side by side to the bunker. Vulpes let his breathing even, his fists unclench so they swung freely at his sides. It was a simple thing. Today rather than tomorrow. Better this way, Vulpes told himself.

Charlie took his tape from the recruits who staffed the entrance to the bunker. Seemed such a silly thing in hindsight, to confiscate mere paper and adhesives. With great care and shaking hands, Charlie wrapped his weapons, twining the tape into the pattern with which he was most comfortable. Pristine and white, it looked out of place against the film of dust always on Charlie’s skin. What would he look like scrubbed? No matter.

It clearly did not occur to Charlie how silly it would be to punch metal robots with taped fists. But Vulpes kept his mouth shut on the matter. 

The radiation of the bunker sizzled all around them, low grade, always humming. Made the skin crawl. Vulpes would take a double ration of cave fungus later, maybe triple, but there was nothing to be done now. Press forward.

Charlie took him by the wrist. Fine, no one to see them but the robots, and there wouldn’t be a single scrap of them left to tell a soul. 

But it didn’t stop there, the hand on his wrist became Charlie’s chest against his, a metal wall at his back. His feet lifted off the ground as he was pinned. The pressure of Charlie’s body against him ran cold, then hot, then tension all at once from the base of his spine, fanning out through his neck like spiderwebs. Charlie’s lips were at his neck, pecking at first, climbing higher to his jaw, stopping just short of his lips. If Vulpes pointed his toes, they just barely brushed against the floor.

“Charlie?”

The Courier hushed him, low and easy, like he was a frightened thing.

"Who is it that has been running all this time? Vulpes Inculta of Caesar's Legion, Greatest of his Frumentarii? Because it hasn't been me."


End file.
